When Literacy Attacks
by flax
Summary: This book wants to be judged by its cover. This was supposed to be a one shot. But a second chapter chased me down. A third chapter brings it to a close.
1. Ah, a book! Perchance to read

Title: When Literacy Attacks ( 1 of 1)  
Challenge 29 from "The Quiet Ones"  
Rating: T (I think)  
Date: September 4, 2005  
AU – an impossibly nice version of 6th year  
Potterverse belongs to J. K. Rowlings

--------------------------------------------

Malfoy was getting dressed for dinner when he couldn't find his tie. Blaise was lounging in their room, looking completely innocent.

"So where's my tie?" Draco demanded.

"There's one being used as a book mark over there in that book on your desk," remarked Blaise absently.

Malfoy looked. There, on his desk, was a book he'd been looking for in the library a few days ago. Hexing, Unhexing - theory and practice. Malfoy was surprised, as he certainly hadn't mentioned anything to Zabini. He looked at the house tie, being used as a book mark.

"What's the Griff tie doing here?" he asked.

"It's a present for you."

"Like I'd want a Griffindor tie?"

"It's Hermione Granger's. I'm sure you could find some suitable use," answered Blaise before he walked out to dinner. "See you later," he said.

Draco wondered if Zabini had lifted the book off Granger, or something like that, but time enough for that later - he wanted to read about returning hexes. The book had a slight aura of dark magic, but that was not unexpected considering what the topic actually was. He opened to where the tie marked and found there text which surprised him:

'_"Don't close this book!" said Hermione'_ read the text right on the page - the words forming where Draco's eyes landed.

"Hermione Granger?" asked Malfoy aloud.

'_"Draco, don't close this book! Please!" repeated Hermione plaintively'_ read the book. Right under the text where it read what Malfoy had said aloud.

"Can you hear me?" he asked, seeing the words appear on the page: _"Can you hear me?" asked her visitor with a lazy drawl._'  
_  
'_"Yes _I can, and don't think of leaving me here!" she cried. Hermione's curls shimmered in the sun, like shades of honey._'

Malfoy laughed. She must be hating this. "Or else what?" he asked.

"_'It wasn't a threat, Malfoy, but if you need it to be, I am more than capable of making your life miserable. More miserable, I mean, jerk.'_"

"So what kind of book is this, Granger? I can smell that the inside doesn't equal the outside." Draco started riffling through the pages, looking for one not dominated by Hermione struggling to escape.

'_"Don't Do That!" screached Hermione_' amid giant bold letters in the text.

Draco then saw more text come into focus on the page, becoming readable and he read it. He found out what kind of world was in this book. He laughed a bit, callously.

_"'Draco Malfoy, get me out of here this instant,' said the irate young lady, her pale dress faintly waving in the slight breeze which blew, the scent of cypress travelling on the wind up from the grove beyond the park. "Would you stay for tea, Mr Malfoy?" she continued shyly_' the text read.

Malfoy couldn't believe how dumb Granger must have been to get caught this way. One thing didn't make sense, though.

"How did Blaise get your tie?" he asked.

'_"Pulled out a quill, wrote that it was out of the text, and it popped out" she replied,_' struggling against the genre.

"So what are you wearing now," asked Malfoy with a smile.

_'Miss Granger, confused by the seemingly irrational question of her gentleman caller blushed and turned away. Her delicate demeanor only attracted Mr. Malfoy more.'  
_  
"What the blazes is that?" said Draco with a nasty start.

_"'Get me out before it pulls you in, nimwit,' replied Miss Granger, pouring a cup of iced tea for both herself and Mr Malfoy._"

_"DON'T LET THE TEXT SAY YOU DRANK IT!" yelled Hermione, raising her cup --_

Draco closed his eyes. He stood, and backed away from the desk. He turned around and blinked his eyes for a moment. The book was before his eyes for the partial instant that he saw, but he didn't read. His eyes slammed shut, and feeling his way back to his bag, Draco pulled out his quill.

His eyes resolutely closed, Draco composed a sentence that the quill produced.

"_Suddenly, Hermione Granger left the book and returned to her real life_."

He heard a pop and a quick spell from the witch. It seemed like a good spell under the circumstances, and Draco opened his eyes. The book was chained closed, fallen to the floor, struggling to be free. Draco added a spell of his own, and the book then sat embedded in crystal, unmoving.

Draco looked at his rival and found her retrieving her tie. "Don't I get to keep it as a trophy?" he asked.

She glared. "Can I have that quill?" she replied.

"It was a present from my father."

"He'd probably burn it if he knew it saved me."

"I saved you. And you'd never know with him."

Hermione turned to the door, and found it would not open. She turned back to Draco who sat innocently on the bed. He waved in mock hello.

"Gentle sir, could you kindly escort me out of here.Now." she asked in sarcastic annoyance..

He looked as if this were a puzzle he was considering while she glared some more. "It would be easier to get you out if you were in the book," he offered.

Granger's look communicated her lack of approval.

Malfoy smiled, waved his wand, shrank the crystal encased, chained book, retrieved it, pocketed it, and escorted Hermione out.

"We should give that to a teacher," said the dutiful student.

"I should have kept flipping pages until I got to a good part," mused the other student, as if to himself.

"Drop dead," Hermione said with some venom.

"Eventually," he replied with a grin, pulling her into a discrete corridor which lead out of Slytherin territory.


	2. Meeting the Masks

Blaise's Second Feat

This is the second chapter to something I thought was a stand alone.

The characters and elements of the Potter universe belong to J. K. Rowlings.

* * *

Granger felt every muscle she had tense. She carefully laid her pen down and took out her wand. Zabini had laid a small box on the table before her and taken the chair opposite her. 

"Malfoy thinks you're still angry with me. So I told him that I'd apologize," he said. Blaise looked the brunette in the eyes and smiled. She was so tense that he thought he could almost see her nerves beneath the skin, but that was to be expected. He had played a bit rough.

"What you did was wrong, Blaise," she said, her hand shaking slightly.

It did not escape Blaise's attention that she used his name. It was a good sign. "Then I suppose I shouldn't do it again, Hermione" he purred.

"Do what?" she asked, her logic catching part of the vagueness in his offer.

"Sequels are never as good, anyway, don't you think?" he remarked to her, relaxing visibly in his chair even though she had him at tense wand point.

"You stuck me in a book you sleaze!" hissed the witch. The wizard chortled to himself as if at some private joke.

"Did you have fun?" he asked.

"No!" the reply was immediate.

"Not in the book. I mean big picture: was it worth it?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and considered her possible responses.

Blaise leaned across the table and captured her gaze in his. His hand pressed her wand down to the table, but not away from his person. "I don't need a reply now, but for this to work, you'll have to wear it and say the words 'yes Blaise' this Friday night around eight. Oh, and, the party's only for a few hundred close friends of my family, so don't tell everyone, because not everyone gets an invite."

"A few hundred death eaters!"

"Do you speak Italian?"

"No."

"Because it comes across as much more polite to ask about that in Italian." Blaise's smile shifted from canny to amused. "They think the British situation is insane, but if you want to chat about it, be a dear and try to learn Italian by Friday night."

"What's your game here, Zabini?"

He let go her wand, ceased looming over her side of the table, and returned to his relaxed sitting. He leaned back and considered. "It's either rampant nationalism or I'm trying to make friends."

"I'd hate to see you make enemies," she snapped.

He looked triumphant, and said, "For giving me such a good exit line, I'll give you one more detail: you will be my guest this Friday, and completely safe."

"Like last Friday?"

"Exactly."

"You and I may not share an understanding of the word 'safe.'"

"You were not hurt."

"It was wrong."

Blaise considered and then offered, "And for that I am truly sorry." Granger seemed to nod, and looked down to the box. She opened it, and inside was a ring. It was two flowers meeting each other off a shared stem which was the band. It was worked in enamels that looked like delicate watercolors. It lacked the obvious glaring wealth of Slytherin "power jewelry" – but it was still festive in a playful way.

Hermione looked up, but Blaise was gone. She figured she might as well get it over with, and so after a dozen detection spells, she put it on and nothing happened. She took it off, put it back in the box, and still nothing had happened.

So, she put the box carefully into her pocket and thought about what it could mean. After list of pros and cons, that she did not in this case commit to paper, Hermione decided that it boiled down to one thing: whether or not Hermione Granger trusted Blaise Zabini.

And as much as Hermione Granger wanted to, she did not.

* * *

Friday night, Hermione sent the hoard of friends off and out while she went to read. Ron thought she was reading in the common room. Lavender thought the library. Harry thought some Arimancy study group had gotten together in the Great Hall. Ginny didn't know exactly where, but knew Hermione wasn't going to be social. 

Hermione, however, had started testing the ring's new ability to find her wherever she went. Whatever deserted room she went to, the ring showed up, nudging her hand. Work or rest, the ring box would suddenly get in the way. Hermione was also rethinking her decision.

She plain could not trust Blaise. But the ring box kept inserting itself into wherever she was, whatever she was doing. An hour before she would need to get dressed, it wasn't the ring box, but a copy of the gooey novel he had left her in, but this time uncharmed. Hermione read it this time, feeling a bit safer now that she was outside the book, and realized that it really wasn't that bad. As the genre went, this one was a light weight. Though it wasn't her world in there, she wouldn't have gotten hurt.

So a smart, gorgeous, deeply manipulative wizard promised she would be a guest and unharmed at his party. Said wizard seemed, and this is why no written list of pros and cons existed, to be setting her up to be around Draco Malfoy.

Hermione was at best conflicted about that.

Death eaters were sneaky, violent, controlling, mean, vicious, flagrant, uncaring, and insane politicians.

So far, Draco and Blaise seemed to only be sneaky politicians. So far.

So at the proper time, Hermione found herself clean, dressed, and ready for a party. She put on the ring of two flowers and balked. She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

And nothing happened.

Fifteen minutes passed and still nothing happened. Hermione could see Blaise's point, but still didn't like this detail. "Yes, Blaise, I would like to come to your party as your guest," she said, and then the ring tugged and her stomach twisted, and the port key had clearly worked.

* * *

Everything felt out of kilter, as is often the case after a porting, but this time more than usual. Hermione had landed in what seemed to be a sitting room, and even though she had never been in an official sitting room, this seemed to Hermione to be one. It was like a living room, but without the used feel, and containing too many fragile valuables. 

She further realized that she was wearing a mask. And a different dress. Granger removed the mask and saw it was a creation of feathers and glistening beads on a soft fabric background. It clung to her face but did not make her uncomfortable, so Granger put it back on. The dress, however, would not be one she would have chosen. Blaise had stuck her in the dress from that romance novel, and Hermione was not happy. A small voice in her head pointed out that the green of the dress was picked up nicely in the ring which was her port key, and Hermione decided to ignore the dress.

Zabini may be as annoying as both Weasley twins put together, thought Granger, finding the exit and entering a busy hallway. In the hall there were people all heading toward a room giving off music and light, and Granger followed.

A warm body didn't simply bump into Granger, but plastered itself up against her back, wrapped arms around her shoulders and then said words into her ear. Hermione was surprised to feel relief to be making contact with Blaise.

"Welcome to my mother's annual ball," he said. "And a few details: when the ring comes off, you'll find yourself back at Hogwarts. At midnight, you'll pop back to Hogwarts. I don't expect it, but just in case, the ring will tell me if you get into trouble," he said.

Hermione turned to face him and looked over Zabini dressed as a fool. "You are my guest," he continued, "and thank you for coming." With that he started moving away into the crowd of other guests.

"What do I do?" she asked.

"Don't think so much," the fool replied with a laugh, and was gone to sight. Hermione allowed herself to be pulled along by the current of guests toward the ballroom. The next words reached her ear as a whisper from her host now gone, "And it's a masque, so no one answers personal questions."

* * *

Hermione stood at the top of a stair, looking over a balcony onto the gathered guests who danced, chatted, ate and drank. A small chamber group played and the decorations were glistening. Hermione found herself mesmerized when she looked at them too long, and had begun to ignore the play of lights, flowers, architecture and shadows. 

There were far more than a hundred people there, all in breezy whimsical costumes. All of them playing with how to be social while in these costumes. It looked like a lot of fun.

Gathering her nerves, Hermione headed down. She first wandered the food and punch tables, not pausing to chat. She took a deep breath, then, and paused to see what would happen. Would anyone chat with the stranger in a gauzy dress out of a romance novel? Not that they could be certain she was a stranger.

"Blaise said he'd be inviting some friends," said a gnarled old Ent. Hermione's eyes widened and she laughed away some of her nerves.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, sir. I'm not sure I've ever spoken to a tree before," she said, attempting a shallow curtsey.

"Hoom, hoom, hoom," replied the tree, with a stiff bend at the waist. "Can I interest you in some punch, lovely lady?"

The lovely lady enjoyed playing the role when it felt safe, and said yes. She chatted with the stranger for quite some time about completely unpredictable, but unthreatening, subjects.

The Ent never asked her her name, but kissed her hand as he left. Hermione had a feeling that he knew who she was, but she still didn't find him threatening. Just, well, pleasant.

Hermione, feeling confident now, looked about for someone else to chat with, but the knots of people had gotten tighter and Hermione didn't see any openings. So she wandered until she found a seat, and then she watched the ensemble play and the dancers dance.

"Remind me to kill Blaise," muttered a familiar voice, but with the pitch of beaten annoyance that Hermione had heard from him before.

Hermoine turned and saw the source of the voice, and it was someone who looked not at all like Draco Malfoy. "What are you wearing?" she asked, almost laughing out loud.

"Blaise's idea of a joke. I'm here as a character that only a muggle would recognize."

Hermione did laugh now. "But how could you know, so why does it matter?"

"Laugh it up. He dressed you in a muggle romance novel dress. You should ask him to borrow the book later," said Draco with a smirk.

"A real femme fatale?" asked Hermione.

"A twittering innocent," said Draco with derision.

"How boring," said Hermione, undecided if Draco was talking about her or the role, but decided to go with the role as twittering and innocent.

"I swore I'd never wear lace again," he said flopping down in the chair beside Hermoine.

Hermione batted at the cravat like Crookshanks a dangling sock. Draco glared. "So here you are, kind sir, and it's so kind of you to visit," she said trying to act in character.

"Insanity knows no boundaries, you know," he replied.

"I find it odd," said Hermione returning to a previous subject, "that I can't place what your costume is meant to be."

Draco glowered and tightened his smile. "Merchant Ivory hero. For some reason, I thought I was coming as an elephant. I think I would have preferred it."

"You'd make an adorable elephant!" exclaimed Granger.

"For that I'll get you a drink," he said darkly, and got up.

Granger wondered who he thought she was, but he was acting like she was some sort of old friend or sister. And as such, he seemed to be a decent guy. The mask also must be altering my voice, she thought.

He was waiting for her response, and again Granger was surprised by the actual manners. Like he knew how to be decent. "Thank ye kindly," she said.

"That was Middle English. The costume more requires Romance Novel Dribble."

"What does that sound like?"

"I don't quite know," answered Draco, moving off to get them drinks.

"Then how would you know?" she muttered to herself, as he was already gone.

Hermione wondered if she was being dishonest. But it was a masque ball, she had been invited by his best friend and roommate, and no one was getting hurt. Hermione winced at her own logic.

A figure cast a shadow over her thoughts, and she looked up to see. The jester clicked his heels, and held out his hand. Hermione took it, and found it propelled up to her lips, which she then kissed, as if she were the gentleman. Blaise then flopped down in the chair beside her.

"I get kissed by all the best women," he said with a leer.

"Who does he think I am?" asked Hermione.

"Dahlia Parkinson. They chat at all these things. Keeps them from having to actually interact with anyone. Avoidance. You wouldn't know anything about that."

Hermione glared fruitlessly at the jester beside her.

"How do you like the chandelier?" he asked, pointing above. "I did it myself," he said in an undertone.

Hermione looked up. The chandelier was a giant silver network of orbiting mirrors and candles, rotating and twinkling. From the candles dripped what seemed like glowing silver wax, but it gleamed and fell until it faded, never touching the guests below. And the light was like moonlight, softly turning everything a gentle grey.

"It's amazing," said Hermione honestly. Blaise smiled at the praise.

They sat there a moment, Hermione looking up and Blaise looking out. Then he saw his cue and stood to go. "Have a good time, fair maid," he said.

"I'm telling Draco," she said, trying to sound resolute.

The jester smirked. He explained: "You'll land at Hogwarts before you succeed." He touched her shoulder gently for a moment, saying very softly, "And it would make an excellent exit line."

"Not everything is a line," she whispered back.

"I know," he said, and moved off. He greeted Draco just out of Hermione's range of hearing, exchanging pleasantries, and then cracking a joke or two.

"He hasn't been this giddy in years," said Draco to Hermione, handing her a cup of punch. It tasted like fruit.

"Looking forward to graduation?" guessed Hermione.

Draco seemed to wrinkle some before not answering, "Indeed."

"The orchestra is nice," offered Granger.

"And they won't remember a thing in the morning," answered Draco, blankly, staring nowhere.

Hermione froze. It hadn't occurred to her.

"You can't be worried that you're being dirtied by hearing muggle musicians," said Draco with a hard voice.

"I never said that," replied Hermione, formulating her own question: "So why does it bother you?"

Her charming and inscrutable classmate returned and Hermione could not read his face. "Waste of a good obliviate," he said with a cold laugh. He took Hermione's hand and pulled gently.

"Dance?" he asked. "They won't remember tonight, but we will."

"I can't dance in this dress," said Hermione, covering her worry.

"I promise to dance around your feet, as always," murmured Draco,

"I dance just fine," said Hermione hotly, hoping Dahlia Parkinson would do the same.

"Yes, dear," replied Draco, spinning her in tiny circles.

Hermione was fairly sure that Draco wasn't dancing quite properly, throwing her off a trace. So she did the same, and also aimed for his feet some. Though she was never successful, they did laugh and relax.

The clock was chiming quarter to when Hermione realized she was going to have to say something.

"I'll walk you to the hall," offered Draco, and Hermione agreed. It was a hall of portraits, all men, all gentlemen, all serious, all very posh.

"The 'My Last Duke' hall. I'm still creeped out," murmured the young man.

"Those eyes," said Hermione of one portrait. They were the eyes of the ent. But the ent had a kinder smile.

"Blaise's fourth father?" asked Draco with a slight frown. "The dead Mr. Simmons? What of him?"

"Just noticing his eyes," said Hermione nervously.

"And there they are. But off with ye, and good night," said Draco, his voice sounding tired. Hermione dropped a small curtsey, smiled, and pulled off the ring. She found herself disoriented from another port key, back in her clothes, without the mask, standing in Hogwarts once again, listening to a clock chime midnight. But she was standing in Draco and Blaise's room.

Draco and Blaise's room. Because she'd seen it before. But maybe all Slytherin rooms look alike. Hermione examined the shelves, and even pulled down a text book. It had Draco's name in it. Hermione put it back fast. The first door she opened clearly led to a bath and shower. That door she closed fast. The other door would not open. Unnerved, Hermione put the ring back on and said "Yes, Blaise," but nothing happened. "No, Blaise, and get me bloody well out of here," she then said. Still nothing happened.

There was a popping sound behind her; Draco had returned.

* * *

Hermione turned, squared her shoulders and told Draco she was going to kill Blaise. 

Draco, on the other hand, had his wand out and was making sure this was Granger. Mostly satisfied, he asked her "what was the wrong answer that Snape was looking for in the trick question on last week's test?"

"The one about clover paste?"

"Yes."

"Mint flowers," she answered. "Mint flowers would have changed the sizing of the results but not the efficacy."

"Maybe you're Granger," said Draco, his wand still out. "So what's the thirty seventh word on the hundred and forty seventh page of our Arimancy text? Not this edition, but the edition coming out next year?" he asked, his teasing persona back, but the wand still out.

Hermione huffed, and gestured at his door. "I can't get out," she said.

"I asked a question," he replied.

"Twit," she replied, "T. W. I. T. twit."

Draco ceased pointing his wand at his companion, but did wave it some. He stood there then in his regular face, his regular pants and shirt, looking much more like himself. "Did you have fun?" he asked.

"Where?" asked Hermione, trying to cover.

Draco blinked in annoyance. "I did miss that it was you before, but it's all obvious now, Granger," he answered.

"I had fun," she said sheepishly. "I was surprised Blaise asked me. I should thank him. Will he be back soon?"

"He'll probably be there all weekend. Would you go again?" Draco looked at her like a science experiment.

"Are you asking me out?" she replied, trying to figure out her answers.

"I'm wondering how a brain like you who doesn't have pure blood parents looks at what went on tonight."

"It was a party."

"A _party_. How enlightening. So, say, the bit about the band doesn't bother you? But I don't know for sure what will happen there. Maybe life is perfect in Italy and no one ever gets obliviated."

Granger chewed over her answer.

Malfoy, still looking at her like a hungry hawk watches a field, added, "A lot of muggles are paid fees, sign contracts, and it's all on the up and up, except they don't remember it in the morning, and don't realize they've forgotten it."

"First off, I'm surprised that pure bloods would hire muggles in any capacity."

"Servants or the like. Not as guests. Maybe you're more like a pure blood than I ever realized," he added.

Hermione knew she was being tested here, but couldn't get what Draco was aiming at. And could not pin down where Draco was coming from. "I liked the people," said Hermione finally. "And as Blaise's guest, I didn't think it right to make a scene when nothing obvious was going wrong."

Draco looked her over and then seemed to accept her answer in a sad way. "It's funny which portrait you noticed," he finally said. "Mr. Simmons was very wealthy, but he turned out to be too trusting."

"What happened," asked Hermione.

Blaise spoke from behind Hermione, startling her something fierce. She jumped about to see him there, leaning back on a book shelf. "It's rumored that mother had me kill him," said Blaise nonchalantly. "Have you ever heard anything so frightful?" he asked.

"That shirt," muttered Draco, throwing another shirt at Blaise. Blaise caught it and simply threw it back.

Hermione was nervous, but the mountain of data was definitely pointing in new directions in her mind. "What was that?" she asked.

"What?" asked Blaise.

"A shirt?" followed Draco.

"Ingratitude," answered Blaise.

"Helpful guidance," corrected Draco.

"I look good," said Blaise, posing.

"In a cartoon world," commented Draco.

"Home sweet home," replied Blaise.

Hermione put her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"We're barely warmed up," put in Draco.

"We usually go for hours," finished Blaise with a grin.

"Worse than Fred and George," muttered Hermione to the two men who huffed.

Hermione thanked Blaise for the lovely evening and the kind invitation. Blaise held up her hand which was wearing the ring again. "Keep it, if you like, but realize that it does let me keep track of you," he said, curling her hand over his and kissing her knuckles one last time.

Draco grumbled.

"Then take her home. You can't have a pretty woman in the room and expect me not to flirt," said the black haired man, looking into Hermione's eyes. She blushed and looked down.

Draco waved Hermione away from Blaise, toward the door, and she thanked Blaise again. He politely thanked her for attending.

Draco didn't need to drag Granger down the corridors of Slytherin this time. This time he escorted her. When they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, Draco pulled her aside and looked like he was trying to find serious words.

"Did Blaise kill his father?" asked the young woman in a very small voice.

Draco looked at Hermione and finally replied. "Some things need to be sensed. Because the words go wrong. So yes. Yes he did."

Hermione froze and looked into the face of what might be her enemy. But her enemy only seemed overwhelmed by it all, also.

Draco leaned in and kissed Hermione gently on the cheek. She leaned against him as well. Then they parted.

"I don't think Blaise has any further plans for us," murmured Draco.

"That's probably for the best," said Hermione.

Hermione went to pull away, but Draco held her hand. He looked aside before coming to what he wanted to say. Then he looked Hermione in the eye and said very softly but seriously, "Don't loose the ring. I think he's made three others, and he doesn't give them out freely. He is an impossible friend, but … he is still a true friend." With that, Draco let her hand go.

"And you?" she asked in a whisper. Draco held up a hand where there was a simple enamel ring.

"Or do you mean, am I a true friend?" he asked, grinning again. "That you'll have to ask Blaise. I'm fairly sure that my own answer would be biased."

"Blaise would be biased too," she reasoned.

"Because of his bias, he can have an on something like that."

"So I'll never know?"

"Not if you want unbiased knowledge. Because that does not exist." Draco let his right hand play in the hair on her shoulder. The teasing light returned to his eye. "But if friendship is tasteful advice regarding clothing," said Draco with interest, "then you'll find me much friendlier than Blaise."

"I didn't incinerate Blaise's dress for being inappropriate or provocative," scolded Granger.

Malfoy grinned more.

"Malfoy?" she asked.

"I'm imagining something here, hold on…" he said.

Hermione pulled his face to look at her eyes and not over her shoulder. He kissed her gently and whispered good night. She let it happen, wishing him a good night as well, and went into the portal to her tower.

The Fat Lady was not amused by the hour of Miss Granger's return. But still, she let Miss Granger in, considering the other option which stood there having just said farewell to her. Hermione happily slept in the following morning.

* * *

Thank you seghen, aeargill and One Shot Gun Shot Loz.  
Seghen – I couldn't see beyond the first chapter when I wrote it. Thank you for the encouragement.  
aeargill – LOL, the book idea trapped me! Thanks also for the encouragement to go on.  
One Shot Gun Shot Loz – I'm glad it satisfied. : ) 


	3. Fairy Tale Finish

All things Hogwarts belong to Rowlings. I thank her for her creations. I am playing with her characters and am grateful for the opportunity to do so. I am making no profit. 2780ish words 

Blaise and Draco winged the ball at each other as hard as they could. It was that sort of day. The sort of day you didn't want to talk, there really was nothing to be said, but it felt really good to wing the ball as hard as possible.

No, the ball did not develop wings. But each toss included a certain magical umph, combined with their throws, that made it emotionally and physically satisfying. Pound the ball, catch the ball flying at you, without getting hurt. Pound out the ball again. This went on for hours. Draco never asked the obvious question. Blaise never gave an answer. It wasn't that the grass itself was listening, though it was. It wasn't that neither was good with the one thing that had to be admitted, though they were both bad at admitting weakness. It wasn't that they both would rather dream of being two boys throwing a ball back and forth rather than being two men, both of whom had a serious problem, one of them who had a serious problem which was coming up on the calendar. As Shakespeare would have said, Presently. They were not quoting Shakespeare. They were whipping a ball at each other.

It got dark. They made their game glow. They got tired. They kept going. One slipped and fell in his throw. "I win," said the other right before he got beaned by the ball.

"I have no ideas," said Draco.

"I have plenty of ideas," said Blaise.

"I mean good ideas," said Draco.

"Well, you didn't specify," finished his friend.

The grass dutifully reported the entire conversation to Lucinillda Lichtner. While she trusted her son, Blaise, utterly, she still found it wise to collect reasons for that trust. He was, after all, her son.

The men went inside and went to the library and did nothing. They collected a pile of books and did nothing. They turned pages, and did nothing. They didn't take notes. To Blaise's upcoming problem, there did seem to be only two, albeit bad, choices. The Lady or the Fire.

"We could implant a conscience," muttered Draco.

"She doesn't care. I don't know that a conscience can overcome someone who has learned to survive without."

"We could paint ourselves blue and dance naked in the rain," continued Draco.

"I'm so worn out, for a second there I was trying to think what that would achieve."

The men didn't look at each other, and continued to do nothing.

And then Hermione bustled over. "Hi," she said with some shy interest. "What are you researching?"

"Nothing," were the answers.

"You're surrounded by books, and researching nothing?" she asked.

"What are you doing, Hermione?" asked Blaise.

The directness surprised her. She fluffed an answer and began to go when Draco kicked out a chair. Hermione and Blaise looked at him with some surprise.

"No," said Blaise.

"I have an idea," said Draco, slowly and looking him in the eye.

"No," said Blaise again.

"Not that idea."

Hermione sat down.

The two men just stared at each other, and Draco began to smile. It never touched Blaise's eyes.

"Hermione," he asked.

"Yes?"

"Are you still pissed with Blaise for sticking you in the book?"

Hermione paused. The nonest answer might be an invitation. "I didn't like it."

"Are you pissed?"

"Not particularly."

"And where are you on the rights of muggles?"

"What?"

"Just to be clear here."

"Muggles are people and have rights to live lives free of being pushed around in unfair ways."

"And magic is unfair."

"Sometimes."

"When Blaise stuck you in the book?"

"That had ... context."

Blaise inserted, "Point, Malfoy?"

Malfoy did a few quiet passes with his wand: no one would hear them now.

"Let's say there was person, call them Dorian Gray, who discovered how to remain perfect and clean, while pursuing their own corruption."

"Let's say," replied Hermione.

"Then what would you say," asked Blaise.

"Destroy the portrait. I read that book."

"Let's say Dorian Gray didn't use a portrait. But did use a--"

"Kitten," said Blaise, cutting in. "Used a kitten."

Malfoy gave him an insane look. Blaise shrugged it off.

"And could animate the kitten to do really bad things under the right circumstances. Do the dirtiest of deeds, so to speak."

"Right circumstances?" asked Hermione.

"Moon, stars, winds, conjunction, seasons, tides, solar wind, next Saturday," muttered the guys.

"What can the kitten do outside the geas?" asked Hermione.

"Lie," replied Blaise.

"Resist," replied Draco.

"How successfully?" she asked.

"If there is an ambiguity in the instruction, it can be exploited to say the deed was done, but do it in the other way. This is not easy. A compulsion needs to be resisted," replied Blaise.

"So why are you asking me?"

Blaise suddenly smiled sweetly and turned to Draco, "yes, why are we asking her?"

Draco looked Hermione dead in the eye, "Because you are the wrench in the gears."

Hermione frowned. That generally didn't work out well for the wrench.

"A muggle who is not a muggle. A witch who is not a witch. A woman who is not a girl. A girl who is not a woman. I'm sure we could pack in a few others as well," said Draco.

"Hey!" said Hermione.

"This could really work," said Blaise with amazement.

Then they told her the plan.

Hermione was not happy.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

On Saturday, Blaise felt himself summoned. He stood before his mother, her creation, built to store her corruptions, to do what she dared not, to become the guilty party. He had been a clever idea on her part so many years ago.

"My son," she said.

"Mother," he replied.

They'd been hoping she'd go for the over dramatic (that always made the ambiguities easier to exploit). She sat in a golden throne of slithering metal in which faces appeared and disappeared at her feet and on her arm rests, the faces of her defeated foes. Her husbands, her friends, her collaborators, her antagonists, her competition: she kept them beneath her at all times. It had come time to move on from another husband: this one was too clever and had begun trying to move on from her. She smiled at her son, her weapon, all her evil gone out from her and standing in a separate body. Her own.

He was glad she was in the over dramatic mood, sitting in the crazy chair, wearing a black gown that acted like a star field and not like a gown, and her eyes had the look she got when she had lost touch with reality.

"Son of my flesh, evil of me, myself stand before me," she intoned.

He didn't point out she'd already summoned him.

"I am Aphrodite and at my command the world shall cry in love, in pain, in fear, in hopelessness," she went on. "Son, bring to Aphrodite the heart of her husband of now. His time has come, let the cycle revolve. Bring the heart that shall be a heart no more and lay it at my feet; I am the mother who is no mother, a mortal who is instead nature incarnate, the self who is your better self, the strength which is your strength, and I command you."

"Don't ask me this," he said, as he had always done.

She pounded the floor with her staff and a rage of blackness took Blaise to the island where his intended victim lived. Blaise lay there, a rage blossoming in his mind, and his limbs burning with the ability to kill. His mother's ability.

Blaise grasped the forest floor, felt a tree step on him, and was taken by this other darkness he could not fight.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Why don't you turn her in?" asked Hermione.

"Help me turn him over," said Draco.

"Because he has something to protect," said the ent, flipping his stepson with a root.

"You?" she asked. "You're his dead stepfather!" she said. "But didn't he kill you?"

"He ripped out my heart," allowed the tree. "But as I was becoming a tree, I didn't have much use for it."

"He ripped out your heart?"

"She sent him out with me, with directions to return with my heart in a box."

"It was a nice box," put in Draco.

"Cost alot, too," said the Ent.

"He ripped out your heart?" said Hermione again.

"He was a kid. He could only struggle so much," said the Ent.

"Do you mind being an Ent?" she asked.

The tree smiled. Waved its leaves. And then laughed. "It's an imperfect world, and given the context, I'm happy," he said.

"He's coming around," said Draco.

"Get out of the way so I can root him down again," said Simmons.

Hermione checked that the big rock next to her in the woods was actually a big rock in the woods, and she sat down on it to think.

Blaise had thrashed like a dog while his step father held him down initially, but then Draco chanted something. Blaise settled. Simmons took off his roots, and Blaise sat up, his eyes still too black, the whites eaten over, but the flesh and muscles around them under his control again.

"Be right back," he said. "Charm her soon," he said jerking in Hermione's direction.

"What were the exact words?" asked Draco, scribbling them down as Blaise said them: _my feet, mother/no mother, a mortal/nature incarnate, self/better self, strength/your strength_.

Blaise left, Malfoy figured out the exact spell, Hermione sat thinking, and Simmons waved in a breeze.

"So he lays the heart at my feet," said Hermione nervously.

"He lays the heart of that man at your feet," said the tree. "It's an ambiguous statement."

"It doesn't sound that ambiguous," said Hermione.

"You never met Lichtner, I take it," said the ent.

"Would this work better if Hermione's feet were bare?" asked Draco, rhetorically.

Hermione took off her shoes and socks.

"I don't know how I clock in as a mother," she said. "Or as his self."

"The self, I've got in the spell. The mother, I'm playing up that you mother people."

"How do I become Zambini's self?" she asked.

"Self/better self: you have alot of his qualities and you don't have the pressure to kill which his mother places on him. Thus, self/better self."

Draco cast the spell, and Hermione went insane. The craze of the mother leaked through the connections and Hermione was unaccustomed to the rage. Simmons held her down while she foamed and fought. She had never before felt the pure wild desire for control like this before. Her regular desire to control her own destiny paled in comparison to this desire to control life itself.

She was red in the face, struggling against the roots; her wand was in Draco's hand and her teeth were clenched.

"Remember why you are doing this," said the tree.

Hermione took deep breaths which were more like the inhale before one lashes out, punching and flailing. Draco chanted for calm again. Simmons let her go, and with difficulty Hermione sat up and waited.

It was soon that Blaise returned. He put a small golden box before the feet of Hermione, called her Aphrodite, called her his mother, his self, his better self, and all the other terms. He opened the box and except for Blaise they all looked in. The heart of Mr Lichtner was apparently a small golden bird with a single red feather.

Hermione resisted the desire to kill, she was watched closely by Mr. Simmons and Draco to make sure she could keep her sanity. Hermione used all her will to grind out the words. "I accept your gift. I am your self, your strength, your mother, nature itself. But you are not my self, you are not my strength, you are not my son, and I do not recognize you anymore. You are not me any more."

It should have worked. Look it up in any grimmore you can find. It should have worked. For years to come, when, a hundred years hence, the various diaries of the various people involved tell of this amazing moment, it baffled the theorists. In theory this should have worked. In practice, it did not. Practice is sometimes a pain.

"Plan B," muttered Draco. Blaise's eyes were still black. There was the danger that Lucinillda had heard them and would now come. This was their best shot at getting free before fighting her. It came with the danger of failing. Lucinillda incoming. Mr. Lichtner incoming. Mr. Simmons and Hermione unprotected. Hermione wailing. The clouds began to grow hot and the damp began to crackle.

"I am your self, your strength, your mother, nature itself. But you are not my self, you are not my strength, you are not my son, and I do not recognize you anymore. You are not me any more," intoned Mr. Simmons.

Lightning crashed and the woods were still. "No," cried Blaise, throwing himself on the tree while Draco extricated Hermione from the spell. The air was otherwise clear.

"What happened?" she asked, but then they were somewhere else. All four were in a garden, Blaise still aching. "We can't leave him here," said Blaise about Mr. Simmons.

"He's not safe out there," said Draco. "And he can't protect himself anymore."

"He's stuck as a tree," said Blaise.

"What happened?" asked Hermione again.

Draco answered: it did no good her saying the release spell. Something didn't ring right, coming from her. But the release did work coming from Mr Simmons.

"He was an Ent because he could recognize people," said Blaise with a cold distant voice.

"And your mother now?" asked Hermione.

"She can't come here," said Blaise.

"You'll stay here?" she asked.

"We go back," said Draco.

"Let her come for me," said Blaise.

"Now it's a fair fight," said Draco.

"If we got his heart back," said Blaise. The tiny golden bird with a red feather flew up into the tree and sat on a branch and began to sing.

"If he had been unwilling, this would not have worked," said Draco.

"If we got his heart back, would he be human," said Blaise.

"I don't think so," said Hermione thoughtfully.

"He still deserves his own heart," said Blaise.

"He took his heart back when he choose to use it," said Draco.

"I'm not leaving it with mother," said Blaise.

"You're being literal."

"She has a small golden statue of him that she has walk around and act as her servant. Inside that statue is his heart. The statue is not allowed to look unhappy."

"We'll get the heart back," said Draco.

----------------------

In the end, it wasn't as hard as one might expect. The only reason Blaise had not physically shown the corruption of his mother on his own face was because he struggled against being corrupt himself. He could be her vessel, and he could be himself, and it worked out that he was both at the same time. Until he was no longer her vessel.

It was apparent to all who saw her from that point on how frighteningly evil Lucinillda was. It beamed like light from her features, the warning that this woman cared for no one, would use anyone, enjoyed control, enjoyed power, enjoyed forcing people into boxes, enjoyed closing those boxes, and did it very well. Overnight, Lucinillda became the most terrifying woman on the earth. Aphrodite had become a crone, and not just any crone, but every vice amplified into an archetype, and she glowed with it. No longer two faced, Lucinillda had one face, and no one dared look at it. It burned like impossibilities and things best not thought of. She was no longer nature - she was now hunger which ate nature. The wolf who ate the sun scared all of life: Lucinillda had troubles maintaining power when all around her fled in fear.

Lichtner called the authorities who looked into his suspicions that his wife was trying to kill him. Proven or not, something was wrong, and Lucinillda was restrained pending a hearing. Blaise recovered his father's golden statue, and brought it to the garden.

"Don't you want to take the heart out and let it rest?" asked Hermione.

"He's not ready yet," said the statue.

"Are you ok with that?" asked Blaise.

The statue smiled, sat beneath the tree, and dozed.

"He didn't answer," said Hermione.

"But he's acting like he acts when he's ok," said Draco.

"And what about the bird?" asked Hermione.

"Someone else's story," said Blaise. He held out the port key and they went back to Hogwarts.

"Did you hear the one about the father and son?" asked the golden statue.

The tree dropped leaves on him. The statue leaned against the tree and rested. The golden bird with one red feather sang.

_The End_


End file.
